


Inter-House Unity

by sly_as_an_alpaca



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Professors, Breakfast Shenanigans, Fluff, Hogwarts Inter-House Friendships, M/M, OCs of color, POC Harry Potter, Professor Draco Malfoy, Professor Harry Potter, The Great Lake | The Black Lake (Harry Potter), professor rivalry because it's fun, scorpius is a cameo don't get your hopes up, so many student ocs because they need some kids to teach/be annoyed by, wizard pranks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:53:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23078152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sly_as_an_alpaca/pseuds/sly_as_an_alpaca
Summary: A mischief-loving seventh-year and her friends notice that Professor Potter and Professor Malfoy definitely have some weird sexual tension going on. They decide to take matters into their own hands.Or: Harry Potter loves his job, except for when he hates it, and hates Draco Malfoy, except for when he doesn't.Or: A tale of seventh year stress, stupid bets, and even stupider pranks.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 13
Kudos: 146





	1. A Bet is Made

“Have you noticed?” Anjali Singh, Slytherin seventh-year, leaned across the breakfast table to ask.

Solomon Kingsley, a big-haired Gryffindor boy who consistently sat at the Slytherin table (much to Minerva McGonagall’s displeasure), looked up from where he’d built an impressive tower out of his eggs and bangers. “Noticed?”

Anjali tilted her head towards the high table. “They’ve gotten worse.”

“Who has?” said Trent Finnigan-Thomas, who also sometimes sat at the Slytherin table despite his near-overwhelming Hufflepuffness. 

“The Professors,” said Anjali.

Trent’s eyebrows raised. “Worse? They can’t have possibly--”

“But they  _ have _ .” Anjali insisted with wide eyes. 

Trent stood to get a better look towards the high table, upending his pumpkin juice in the process and causing a sudden stream of cursing from Siddharth Patil beside him.

“Which professors?” asked Solomon, frowning at the high table.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Anjali said. “The only two who’ve been at each other’s necks since they got here.”

At the staff table, Professor Potter shot an icy glare at Professor Malfoy, who smirked at him and sipped his tea, before realizing that he had in fact been drinking from the gravy boat and subsequently wiping his mouth not-so-discreetly with a napkin. Potter laughed at him. Malfoy snarled.

“Ah,” said Solomon darkly. “Those professors.”

“Haven’t they got anything better to do?” Trent had sat back down, and reached over to grab a bit of Solomon’s egg and banger tower with his fork. 

Anjali’s eyes gleamed. “What, like have sex already?”

“I can hear you!” said Scorpius Malfoy from down the table, somehow managing to sound polite about it.

“Sorry, but it’s true,” Anjali called back. Scorpius scrunched his nose and turned away, looking determined not to hear any further.

“Anjali, you’re being ridiculous.” Trent stabbed into the banger he’d stolen and sliced it a bit too enthusiastically. “You need to get over this weird thing of yours with those two. They’re our teachers. For Merlin’s sake, Professor Potter had a wife.”

“ _ Had _ ,” insisted Anjali, “Being the key word here.”

“A wife! A female spouse!”

“Hey, bisexuals exist.”

“I do seem to be tangible,” noted Solomon. 

“No way, Anj,” said Trent, shaking his head. “You’re just seeing what you want to. Given half a chance, Professor Malfoy would knock Professor Potter’s lights out.”

“There is a thin line between love and hate,” Anjali said sagely.

“I dunno, I think it’s kind of hot,” said Solomon.

Trent groaned. “You. You are not helping.”

“Listen,” said Anjali, growing serious. “We’ve seen them dancing around each other like this for six years. The second Potter left the Aurors for Hogwarts, Malfoy couldn’t shut his mouth about it. Potter this, Potter that, bad role model, blah blah blah. You can’t deny that he was obsessed!”

“They used to be enemies,” argued Trent. “Of course he was upset that Potter was coming to work with him.”

“Oh, hardly.” Anjali leaned forward again, voice rising as she went on. “They were schoolyard rivals, pulling pigtails and chasing after one another for the snitch.”

“Malfoy tried to kill him!”

“Well, he’s not like that anymore, is he? He’s doing all of that charity work now, and he developed the new wolfsbane potion for Teddy Lupin. Bloody hell, the man is buddy-buddy with Hermione Granger, and she’s as politically correct as they come. There’s no way Potter thinks he’s still a pureblood supremacist.”

Trent went quiet. “Well, I suppose you’re not wrong about that.”

Solomon, who had been listening raptly, nodded at Anjali. “I think you’re right-- about the rivals part, anyway,” he added, when Trent shot him a betrayed look. “There’s no way they still hate each other, not the way they did.”

“Which begs the question,” Anjali said, eyes narrow, “Why do they still act like--”

From the staff table, Potter yelped. His teacup had just bitten him rather viciously on the nose. Malfoy, who was tucking his wand into his sleeve, looked pleased.

“Like that,” finished Anjali.

“Lingering resentment?” suggested Trent.

Potter put down his fork and stood. Malfoy watched his movements with a hawk-like eye. Potter gave a chilly nod and left the Great Hall, Malfoy’s gaze still following him closely.

“Sexual tension,” said Anjali.

“Has Ms. Singh figured out what her thesis will be on yet?”

“No. She keeps waffling about with different ideas, but I don’t think she realizes how quickly her deadline is approaching.” Harry sighed, looking up from a stack of the most badly written essays he’d ever graded, which he was working his way through at a glacial pace. He was five creative misspellings of the word “djinn” away from throwing the papers through the window behind him to suffer at the tentacles of the giant squid.

“If she can’t decide on something before Christmas, she’ll have trouble finishing in time,” said Minerva, looking at Harry over her glasses from the chair across from him.

“That’s what I’ve been telling her. She’s too smart to graduate without an apprenticeship in place, but if she can’t get over her procrastination, that’s what’ll happen.”

“She’ll be fine,” cut in a sharp, deep voice from across the staff room. Draco Malfoy, tea in hand, stood up from his seat by the hearth and joined the conversation, which he had no business doing, thank you very much. “Anjali procrastinates, but she’s never turned in anything late. She’s just taking her time to make sure she chooses the right topic.”

“You don’t know that,” argued Harry. “She’s certainly cut it close more than once before. I’m worried she might not be taking this seriously.”

“She’s approaching her thesis with more care and sincerity than I’ve ever seen her approach any project in her years here. I know you’re used to rushing into things without regard for consequences, Potter, but Anjali is a Slytherin. She is able to use more consideration in her decisions.”

_ Bullshit _ , Harry wanted to say.

Harry Potter was an adult. He was thirty-three, which, honestly, was practically forty. He had many adult things, like friends who invited him to baby showers, and books about cooking, and nice firewhiskey he could swirl around in a glass in order to look like he knew what he was talking about. He had a job where he taught children how to stop picking their noses and look at the chalkboard and maybe learn something for once in their lives, which was a job that he loved very much, even though it sometimes made him want to run far off into the mountains where no one could hear him scream.

Harry Potter, Order of Merlin, First Class, Boy Who Lived, Hogwarts Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, and Head of Gryffindor House, did not argue like a first-year anymore. He argued like an adult.

So Harry ground his teeth and kept his mouth shut.

In a tone of voice that meant the conversation was over, Minerva said, “We’ll have to see,” and Harry agreed.

“Indeed,” said Malfoy, entirely too smugly for Harry’s liking. “Potter,” he said, and nodded, leaving the staffroom in a sweep of midnight blue robes. 

Harry glared.

“Yes, Ms. Singh?” said Harry, nodding towards the dark-haired girl waving her hand in the air.

“The Gulping Plimpy,” said Anjali.

“Indeed it was.” Harry wrote  _ Gulping Plimpy _ on the board under  _ Venom _ . “And that was discovered rather recently. Does anybody know when?”

Others raised their hand, but Anjali answered again. “2008.”

Harry smiled at her. “Ten points to Slytherin.” Out of the talented seventh-year class, Anjali Singh was his most promising student. He almost wished he was her Head of House so he could aid her in finding the right career in Defense. Merlin knows Malfoy will have her go into Potions. Harry regarded the class. “Any others?” 

The class was silent, save for a sniffling Gryffindor in the back, who had steam pouring rather noisily from his ears. It was flu season.

“Oh, come on. Creatures with ward-inducing venom. Anybody at all?”

“The Nundu,” came a voice from the door. 

Harry’s head whipped around to see Draco Malfoy lounging against the door frame, perfectly at ease and irritatingly put together, as usual. 

“Sorry to interrupt, Potter, but this class is so terribly dull that I thought I might be bored to death before I got the chance to ask for pixie droppings.”

Harry seethed, ignoring the giggling of his seventh-year Gryffindor and Slytherin Advanced Defense class. Of course Malfoy had to walk in on the one group of students who was familiar enough with them both to be comfortable sniggering.

“It’s  _ Professor _ Potter,” said Harry as Malfoy strutted into the classroom and leaned against his desk. Harry stared in indignation at where Malfoy’s tight-trousered bottom rested on a pile of essays. “And couldn’t you have chosen a more opportune time?” 

“No,” said Malfoy quite happily. “Have you got pixie droppings or haven’t you?”

“I’m sure Poppy has--”

“She’s out.”

Harry scowled.

Malfoy raised his eyebrows at him.

Harry sighed. “My office, top left shelf.”

“Thank you,  _ Professor  _ Potter,” said Malfoy, entirely too smugly, and trotted across the room into his office. Those trousers really were too well-fitted. They can’t possibly have been within protocol…. 

“Professor?”

Harry startled and turned to the class, half of which was giggling and whispering, and the other half of which had taken the opportunity to covertly find answers in their books. The student who had spoken, Solomon Kingsley, was a quiet boy, bright but unmotivated. He was gazing at Harry with a strange look on his face as Singh whispered furiously into his ear.

“Right,” said Harry, “Sorry about that.”

“I’m sure you are,” said Malfoy, exiting his office with four jars floating behind him.

“That’s all of my pixie droppings.”

“So it is.”

“Do you really need all of them?” Harry said through gritted teeth.

“Yes.” Malfoy sent the jars hopping through the door, shot the class a wink (much to the delight of a few of the more easily-charmed boys and girls), and left the classroom.

Harry followed the sway of his hips for a moment before catching himself, shaking his head, and reigning the class back in.

Malfoy would be the death of him.

“Oh, come off it. Potter was staring because he was annoyed,” said Trent, only half-listening to the conversation from where he lay across a couch in the Hufflepuff common room, his legs slung across Anjali’s lap and an Advanced Herbology textbook bobbing above his head. 

“Annoyed by how fit Malfoy is, maybe,” snickered Anjali. “Did you see those trousers?”

“I know I did,” said Solomon from the nest of pillows he’d constructed in an oversized armchair.

“Wh-- I thought you didn’t like men!” Trent said to Anjali accusingly.

“I’m gay, not blind.”

Trent groaned. “You two are the absolute worst.”

“You can’t blame us.” Anjali leaned forward, putting her head between Trent and his textbook. “Potter and Malfoy are endlessly entertaining. And Merlin knows we could use a distraction from Seventh Year. If I have to look at one more career pamphlet--”

“Agreed. NEWTs can eat my entire arse,” said Solomon.

“It may be funny to fantasize about,” Trent said, “but that doesn’t mean the Professors would ever actually be interested in each other. It’s been years since Potter started working here. They’d have gotten together already.”

“What, like you and Kaia?” Solomon asked.

Anjali smirked. “He’s got you there.”

“I-- that is entirely different! You’re implying that Potter and Malfoy have a mutual attraction. Kaia wouldn’t go out with me if her life depended on it,” said Trent, his cheeks turning bright red before he plucked his textbook out of the air to hide his face.

“Like hell she wouldn’t!” said Anjali. “Kaia O’Reilly has been crushing on you since fifth year.”

“She’s been picking on me since fifth year, yeah.”

“What did I say about love and hate?”

Trent pushed Anjali off of him and vigorously flipped a page of his textbook. “Potter’s about as likely to get with Malfoy as I am to get with Kaia.” 

A moment of suspicious tranquility passed. Trent looked up from his textbook to find Anjali and Solomon looking at each other with twin smirks on their faces. 

“What now?”

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” asked Anjali.

Solomon looked to Trent. “You up for a bet?”

“What could you two possibly offer--”

“The Harpies Quaffle.”

“Anjali!” said Solomon sharply.

“Really?” asked Trent, his eyes wide. 

Solomon Jones’ team signed Holyhead Harpies Quaffle had been a point of contention for the seventh years for months now, ever since he managed to win it in a bet from Trent, who had gotten it signed at the last World Cup because his dads were friends with the team’s star chaser, Ginny Weasley.

“Really,” said Anjali. “If Potter and Malfoy aren’t together by the end of the year, then you get the Quaffle back.”

“I did not agree to this,” said Solomon sadly, though he knew once Anjali had set her mind to something there was no point in arguing. 

“Wait,” said Trent. “What’s my end of the bargain?”

“If Potter and Malfoy get together, you have to ask Kaia to the seventh year formal.”

The seventh year formal, a tradition started by Headmistress McGonagall to celebrate the school’s first full year after its reopening following the War, was very close to what many Muggleborn Hogwarts students imagined an American prom to be like, only with less tuxedos and more Celestina Warbeck.

“No.” Trent shut his textbook. “No way.”

“Signed Quaffle,” said Anjali, eyebrows raised. Solomon winced.

Trent scowled. “I hate you.”

They shook on it.

“Are you crazy, Anjali?” Solomon whispered furiously the second they’d left the Hufflepuff common room. “I know you don’t have anything on the line here, but I won that Quaffle fair and square.” Solomon leaned against the wall miserably. “Potter and Malfoy together might be nice to think about, but who’s to say they’d ever actually be an item?”

“Well, I have it on good authority that Malfoy is crushing on Potter pretty hard,” said Anjali.

“Wishful thinking,” Solomon said bitterly.

“It’s not wishful thinking if you have evidence.”

Solomon straightened and frowned at her. “Evidence?”

“Malfoy came into the DADA classroom earlier for pixie droppings, right?” said Anjali. Solomon nodded. “I checked in the potions storeroom afterwards. He took four jars from Potter, but there were at least ten jars in there. He didn’t need pixie droppings. He needed an excuse to bother Potter!”

“Holy shit,” said Solomon. “Are you sure?”

“Entirely.”

“Well, maybe Malfoy does fancy him. But that doesn’t necessarily mean they’ll get together.” Solomon started up a grand staircase, ready to head to Gryffindor tower before curfew.

“You’re forgetting one thing,” said Anjali. 

Solomon turned and raised a questioning eyebrow.

Anjali grinned. “I’m a Slytherin.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've been writing this for ages. I have an idea of how I want it to play out but also I'm in college and ridiculously busy and may never finish this fic. I am definitely proud of what I do have, though, and I love this trio of seventh-year dumbasses with all my heart. Hopefully I can keep posting chapters, but no promises.
> 
> EDIT: Well coronavirus just vibe checked my college so it’s looking like I’ll have a lot more free time than anticipated. Outlook is good for more chapters soon.


	2. The Squid Does Some Remodeling

Harry had always believed in the therapeutic power of a good walk. Today, Hogwarts was buried under two feet of snow-- though if it didn’t let up soon, it would be three-- and the school grounds had been transformed into a picturesque winter wonderland. This sort of weather may have prevented a sane person from taking an afternoon stroll, but Harry had never been entirely sane, and he was sure that if he spent another minute cooped up inside he’d explode. 

The snow flattened under his feet as he walked and the laughter of the younger students who hadn’t yet tired of snow days echoed from a distance. Harry changed direction to follow the shoreline of the Great Lake, which was frozen solid, and looked out its vast expanse. He felt a serenity come over him that he hadn’t experienced since late summer.

_THUMP._

He started and looked around behind him. Where had that sound come from? It was deep and Earth-shaking, like something was pounding on the ground from below.

_THUMP. THUMP, THUMP, THUMP._

The lake. It was coming from the lake.

_CRACK._

Harry turned just as the middle of the lake exploded upwards. Shards of ice flew into the sky, and a gigantic tentacle burst out from beneath the water, twitching and thrashing around wildly. The lake swirled beneath the ice, and a wave of freezing water rose onto the shore, soaking Harry’s boots. From under the lake rose a larger portion of the giant squid than Harry had ever seen above water at once. It raised its giant head. It was at least two stories tall. 

Harry’s eyes widened and he whipped out his wand on instinct. “Stupe-- OUCH!” A sharp stinging lashed at his hand, and Harry dropped his wand. 

“Are you a complete idiot, Potter?” came a voice from behind him. Harry spun around. Draco Malfoy was striding towards him through the snow, bundled up in a puffer coat and Slytherin scarf, his wand outstretched and smoking from the hex he’d just thrown.

“What?” asked Harry. “I was trying to paralyze the thing before it did any damage!”

“You can’t just _stupefy_ the giant squid!” said Malfoy irritably. The squid splashed around, as if in agreement.

“Have you got a better idea?” Harry bent down and rooted around in the snow for his wand, then stood, his hand stiff from the cold.

“I don’t know, we could-- it’s not--” Malfoy sputtered. He didn’t seem to have an end to the sentence.

“That’s what I thought.” Harry raised his wand again.

“If that doesn’t work, you’ll only make it angrier.” Malfoy squinted up at the squid. It was crashing its tentacles down into the lake, shattering the ice sheets and sending fish flying.  
“What’s got it riled up in the first place?”

“How would I know?”

“That’s even worse! Who knows what happened to it? A paralyzing charm could react badly with any magic already in the area. You could create an explosion.”

“It’s going to create its own explosion if I don’t do something soon!”

“Oh, if _you_ don’t do something?” Malfoy scowled and stepped closer. “Do you always feel the need to solve problems single-handedly?”

Harry threw up his hands, infuriated. “It’s not like you’re helping! You’re just standing around telling me what I’m doing wrong. If you ever actually helped out, maybe you’d realise that not everything is as easy as it looks!”

“Well, if you ever thought before you acted, maybe you’d realise that not all of your ideas are perfect all the time!”

“Alright, Malfoy, that’s it--”

_CRASH._

Both men spun around just in time to see one of the squid’s gigantic limbs come in contact with Gryffindor tower.

“Kaia says the squid got really sick, and it was thrashing around like that because it was in pain,” said Anjali. She was knelt in front of a rack of Fizzing Whizbees, which had recently come out with a variety of new flavors. Half of her mind was devoted to squid-rampage discussion, and half was considering whether ‘avocado sherbert’ would taste good or just weird. She was very good at multitasking.

“It’s never gotten sick before,” said Trent. He leaned over Anjali’s shoulder, took the avocado-flavored Whizbees from her hand, and put them back before she could make a regrettable decision. “Not ever. Not in the history of Hogwarts.”

“Maybe it’s just its time to go,” Solomon suggested. “Been around long enough.”

Anjali stood, having decided on the much safer ‘strawberry sherbert’ flavor. “Not a chance. The giant squid’s lifespan is supposed to be three thousand years at least, and it’s only been around the last thousand or so.”

“I dunno, sick sounds like a good theory,” said Solomon. “Have you seen those spots?”

Trent scrunched up his nose. “I think those are supposed to be there.”

“Are you sure?”

“My common room has a window into the lake, Solomon,” Anjali reminded him. “It’s had spots for nearly seven years now.”

Solomon shook his head. “Whatever. Can we go to Weasley’s now? The sun’s going down and I want to see George before we have to go.”

They bought their sweets and stepped out of Honeydukes into the light snow. The flakes were large and slow-falling, and it was cold enough that the snow stuck to their shoulders and noses.

“Well if it’s not sick and it’s not dying, why did the squid go mad?” asked Anjali, who was being pulled forward by Solomon (she had a Fizzing Whizbee in her mouth and so was floating a few feet off the ground).

“Maybe one of the mermaids did something?” said Trent.

Anjali lit up. “Ooh, like maybe the squid had a passing fling with a mermaid but then it realised it actually had feelings for her and when she rejected it, the squid said fuck it and went nuts?”

“Why does everything have to be a romance with you?” Trent asked.

“I don’t think that makes sense anatomically,” mused Solomon. “I mean, the size alone would--”

“Stop!” said Trent. “Please stop. I want to enjoy this sugar quill.”

“Maybe it was just a really good prank,” guessed Solomon as they stepped into Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes.

“What was?” asked the man behind the counter.

George Weasley hadn’t changed much over the years. Too many experiments gone wrong had left him with slightly more freckles on the right side of his face and his ginger hair permanently sticking up, but his youthful spirit had remained stubbornly intact, and his store retained its popularity, especially with Gryffindors who were too clever and too apathetic for their own good, such as one Solomon Kingsley.

“The squid attack,” said Solomon eagerly, running up to the counter. 

“The one that took out half of Gryffindor Tower?” asked George with amusement. “You sound a bit too pleased about it.”

“Hasn’t had any adverse effects yet. My room was one of the ones that got destroyed, so I get to bunk with Trent until the tower’s fixed up.”

“He snores,” Trent added miserably.

“If that was a prank,” said George thoughtfully, “it rivals anything Fred and I ever pulled off.”

Solomon’s eyes widened. “Really?”

“Really. Reckon a prank like that wouldn’t be easy, either. If it was a student, then whoever did it has my respect.”

“Yeah,” Solomon said distantly.

“I was trying to paralyse it, but he wouldn’t--”

“Damn right I wouldn’t! Only an idiot--”

“It’s not like you were helping at all--”

“ _Quiet_ , both of you,” said Minerva harshly. 

Both men fell silent.

“Am I meant to be moved by any of this?” she asked.

“No, Headmistress, I only thought--” started Malfoy.

“That was a rhetorical question.”

Harry and Malfoy were sitting in stiff-backed chairs in front of the Headmistress’ desk, feeling very much like children. Neither would meet her eye.

“Do you two have any idea what this will look like to parents? To the Ministry? I can’t think of what to write in this press release. ‘At the time of a catastrophe that could have endangered the structural integrity of the school as well as the lives of multiple children, Hogwarts was lucky enough to have two of our most combat-ready staff members at the scene of the incident. However, instead of working together in any attempt to curtail the effects of a giant squid attack, the two professors became so distracted arguing with each other that they completely ignored the rampaging animal until it destroyed half of Gryffindor dormitory.’”

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but was quelled by a sharp look from Minerva.

“You have no idea how lucky you are that nobody was hurt. If a student had been fatally injured in this incident, I may have had to fire the both of you.”

Harry blanched, and beside him, Malfoy had gone so pale he was nearly green. 

“You will be working together to repair Gryffindor tower.”

Alright, Harry could do that. It would take a couple days at most. 

“Of course, the repairs will have to be made without using any magic.”

“What?” exclaimed Harry.

Malfoy stood. “Headmistress, with all due respect--”

“Sit back down, Professor Malfoy,” she snapped. 

He sat.

“I am not doing this to inconvenience you. Hogwarts castle is an ancient building, and the magic instilled in it is highly reactive. Any bit of outside magic embedded in the architecture could throw off the functionality of the Hogwarts organism. The staircases would move off schedule, the portrait security would be compromised, and the towers may even switch places.”

Malfoy was nodding. “Who knows what would happen to the Room of Requirement,” he added. 

He was right, Harry realised with a start. Last time he’d touched the door handle, it had been burning hot. If the Room moved, would the Fiendfyre inside move with it?

“You two remember how long it took to repair after the Battle. Our year out of service was not borne of laziness. Every brick blasted to pieces had to be laid back by hand. As will each brick in Gryffindor tower.”

Each brick. Harry squinted, trying to calculate how many bricks that would be. At least a hundred, right? Mental math had never been his strong suit.

“Half of Gryffindor tower is nearly five thousand bricks,” said Malfoy without missing a beat.

“Indeed it is,” replied Minerva. She let slip a bit of a smile. “You two had better get started.”

“Remind me again why we’re hiding here?” asked Solomon. He was of the opinion that lunch hour was best enjoyed in the Great Hall, not in an alcove outside the Great Hall’s doors.

“Shh!” said Trent, slapping a hand over Solomon’s mouth.

“We’re hiding from Kaia O’Reilly,” said Anjali dryly.

“We’re not--” started Trent. Solomon licked his hand. “--Gross, stop! We’re not hiding. We’re just… waiting.” Trent pulled his hand away and wiped it on his robes with disgust.

“Waiting for what?” asked Solomon.

Anjali snickered. “For Kaia to finish eating, I guess. That way Trent doesn’t have to sit at the same table as her.”

“Just sit at the Gryffindor table with me,” said Solomon.

“No,” hissed Trent, as if this should be obvious, “because then I’ll have to walk past the Hufflepuff table, which is _where she’s sitting_.”

“This has never been a problem before,” said Anjali.

Solomon stuck his head out from the alcove to sneak a look at Kaia. Trent quickly pulled him back by the hood of his robe, but when he returned to the safety of their hiding spot, he looked smug.

“What?” Anjali asked with excitement.

“I know why Trent’s hiding,” sang Solomon.

When Anjali looked to Trent questioningly, he’d buried his face in his hands. The tips of his ears were a telltale pink.

Solomon grinned. “Kaia is wearing a very familiar sweater.”

Anjali peeked her head out to see; indeed, Kaia was wearing a yellow and black sweater with FINNIGAN-THOMAS across the back. It was quite obviously Trent’s Prefect sweater from the Prefects’ retreat last summer. Kaia turned to grab a piece of bread, and sure enough, the front breast had _Prefect_ embroidered on it in little cursive letters. Anjali returned to the alcove with a grin on her face even bigger than Solomon’s.

“Trent!” she gasped, “Has there been some development we weren’t made aware of?”

Solomon pouted. “I feel betrayed, mate. I thought you told us everything.”

“No,” said Trent, lifting his head. His cheeks were even redder than his ears. “I promise, it’s not what it looks like.”

Anjali and Solomon exchanged looks. Anjali raised an eyebrow. “It looks like you two--”

“We didn’t! That’s not it at all!” Trent cried.

“What happened, then?” asked Solomon, narrowing his eyes.

“She just--” Trent suddenly seemed to remember he was supposed to be whispering, adjusted his volume, and continued, “We were in Potions and her cauldron exploded and she was soaking wet and she was wearing a white shirt so you could--” he broke off, got (impossibly) even redder, and hissed, “-- _see things_. And so I lent her my sweater to cover up. That’s it.”

“That’s not nearly as fun as I hoped,” said Anjali.

“Why’s she wearing the sweater to breakfast, then?” asked Solomon.

“I wish I knew!” cried Trent.

“I know why.” Anjali poked Trent with her elbow and wiggled her eyebrows. “She likes you.”

The past week had been a bit of a nightmare for Harry. He’d been forced to talk to Malfoy entirely more than necessary; Hermoine owled to cancel brunch again (“You know I miss you, Harry, but between Hugo and work, my hands are full! Next Sunday, I promise.”); and the destruction of half of Gryffindor tower meant students were stuffed into the Hogwarts dormitories like sardines, resulting in classrooms of students who were either cranky from too little sleep or giddy from too many games of spin the bottle. Now, it was Friday afternoon, and Harry was almost finished grading the last batch of papers for the day. It was nearing the end of his office hours and he couldn’t wait to get back to his rooms for a nice cup of tea-- or maybe something stronger-- and a listen to the newest episode of his favorite WWN radio drama.

At ten to five, ten minutes before his office hours ended, someone knocked on his door. Harry groaned. He didn’t know if he could handle another piece of bad news.

“Yes, come in,” he said, trying his best to keep the grogginess out of his voice.

The door opened and in stepped Anjali Singh, wearing her typical shorter-than-regulation skirt, a Slytherin scrunchie, and a sheepish expression. “Hello, Professor Potter. Sorry to bother you right before the end of your office hours.”

“No, it’s not a problem,” he lied smoothly, and motioned for Anjali to sit down.

She sat, smoothed down her skirt, and said, “It’s about my thesis.”

“Oh, good,” Harry said, brightening. “Have you made a decision?”

“Well, I think I have, but I need your okay first. And Professor Malfoy’s.”

Harry frowned. “If you need his consent then it must be a Potions thesis. What are you coming to me for?”

“I want to do a combined thesis in Potions and Defense,” said Anjali in a rush. “I’ve been doing some reading, and at Muggle universities, they have what’s called a double-degree, where students major in two subjects at once. And I’d really like to combine my Potions work with my Defense work in my future career.”

“Well, it would certainly be unorthodox.”

Anjali deflated a bit. “I understand if you-- if it’s against the rules, or something.”

“Anjali, I’ll let you in on a bit of a secret.” Harry leaned forwards, with a bit of a smile. “I’m a big fan of breaking the rules.”

“Really?” Anjali raised her eyebrows. “But weren’t you an Auror?”

“Why do you think I left?” Harry laughed. “When I was in the DMLE, everything had to be done according to a very specific set of protocols. It got repetitive, and I never felt like I was learning anything. As a professor, I learn something new every day. Even if I learn it the hard way, like with the giant squid earlier this week.”

“What did you have to do with that?” asked Anjali.

“Don’t worry about it,” said Harry quickly. “Anyway, my research here at Hogwarts allows me to work without constraints, and for a lot of it, I have to bend the rules to get results. It’s much more gratifying than any work I ever did as an Auror.”

“So you’ll let me combine the subjects?”

“I don’t see why not, if Professor Malfoy also agrees,” said Harry with a shrug. “But this thesis had better be good to be worth it.”

“I promise, it is,” Anjali said, her eyes lighting up. She reached into her bag and dumped a folder of notes onto Harry’s desk. “So I was looking at the data from the wards you unraveled in Malfoy Manor, and I found some interesting patterns…”

By the time Anjali had finished with her proposal, it was nearly six. But as Harry walked back to his quarters, he felt lighter than he had all week. There was something about his students that always made him feel better, more hopeful. Their energy and excitement was contagious. And Anjali in particular reminded him of a certain well-read friend of his whom he’d been missing all week. By the time he was sitting in his favorite overstuffed armchair with a cup of Irish coffee, Harry had forgotten what he’d been so irritated about in the first place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As predicted, my free time is suddenly abundant. I'm hoping to get out a chapter every week or so but if I don't then uh. Sorry I guess.
> 
> Enjoy!


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